Pathos of a Duelist
by nedthejanitor
Summary: Keith, he drunk.


**Disclaimer: Alcoholism is not owned by nedthejanitor. He prefers a nice cup of iced tea sugared with MEEEEEEETH.**

"Ey, you!" slurred a blonde, built man with sunglasses and an American flag do-rag. "Ey! I'll duel ya for another drink!"

"Sir, victories at Duel Monsters do not count as currency at this bar," the sad-eyed lady bartender told him as she washed the same glass she'd been washing since she opened. "We stopped honoring those a year ago, when Duel Monsters stopped being all that popular."

"C'mon! Get a duel dishk and buy me a drink 'f I win!"

The bartender, Clarissa, sighed at the sight of the pathetic man. The truth is, Duel Monsters was close to being an extinct game, with countless duel disks of various models littering gutters, closets, pawn shops, landfills and junkyards all across the world. Even since last year, kids were being taught about that strange, brief period in world history where people solved everything from what to eat for dinner that night to who would be the next president with a rousing game of Duel Monsters.

"I'd be fuck'n rich right now- YA HEAR ME?! Fuck'n ricsh! If not f'that FUCK'n Yugi Motor…"

Ah yes, that was a name Clarissa had not heard in a while. Yugi Moto. The kid who never went to school because he was too busy playing Duel Monsters. Last she heard, Yugi was waiting tables at Sonic. "But Clarissa," one might say, "Sonic doesn't even have any tables!" Exactly.

"Him and that FUCK'n Kaiber…"

Surely he must have been talking about KaibaCorp CEO Mokuba Kaiba; Seto, the older brother and former CEO, drove himself mad years ago trying to best Yugi and regain his title as world's greatest duelist. He could now be found at the Domino City Insane Asylum, trying to play spell cards made out of his own feces.

"And let's not forget that goddam Joey Whaler…"

Joey Wheeler? The current Prime Minister of Japan? What did he have to do with anything? Then again, she supposed Keith was just as drunk as a skunk, so maybe he was thinking of somebody else or had some kind of weird disagreement with Joey that had to do with his policies, even though that has nothing to do with his failed "career" as a duelist.

Keith started knocking on the counter and calling Clarissa's name over and over. She just ignored him; her bouncer would be back from his break soon and he could take care of this. She was just going to stand here cleaning her one glass and wondering why she didn't have enough clean glasses to serve more than zero customers at a time.

"SAY!" Keith finally yelled as loud as he could and took his jacket off, the enormous amount of cards he had in the inner pockets spilling out on the floor and the barstools. "LESS GO! I wan take you on, breast-lady!"

"Sir, I can't serve you any more," she told him in her most calm, soothing tone she practice for situations just like this. "Just let me call you a cab and you can get some sleep."

"NUH UH!" He pointed his finger at Clarissa. "Yer just-"

He vomited all over the counter, the only foreshadowing being a burp he had let loose while Clarissa was trying to talk some sense into the drunk bastard. Now she was upset; if it took her this long to clean one glass, how long was she going to spend having to clean off the stupid countertop?!

"What the hell?!" The bouncer just came back from lunch to find a countertop covered in vomit that wasn't his or Clarissa's. It must have been Keith's, he'd recognize Clarissa's vomit anywhere.

"Anoth'r duelish?!" Keith gasped. "Bander Keigh, looksh to me like you got yer work cut out for ya…"

"Duelist?" The bouncer's face lightened. "Oh, I haven't met another duelist in months!"

"Tony?!" Clarissa exclaimed. "I didn't know you played Duel Monsters!"

"We're kind of an extinct breed," Tony said sadly. "Anyway, let's duel! If you win, I'll… uh…"

"You'll lemme drink!"

"Yes, I'll leyou drink. But if I win, you go your ass to jail for refusing to leave the premises."

"Deal!"

()()()

Three hours later, Bandit Keith found himself- and then almost lost himself- in the county slammer. His strategy of "completely forgetting how to play Duel Monsters before challenging the bouncer to a duel" wasn't as successful as he'd hoped, and now he sat in one corner of the cell while his cellmate, a seven-foot red-head from Ireland named Fitzy stared at him like he was a chocolate ice cream cone.

"Well, well," said Fitzy, "I just love that hat of yours."

"It's a do-rag! Leave me alone!"

"Now, now, Mr. America. I've been in here for two hours and it's starting to get a little horny in here…"

"Two hours?!" Keith said, half angry and half scared.

"Yeah, it's actually a serious medical issue. I have to be basically industrially milked every so often or else my balls will swell up to the size of grapefruits."

"Wow. I am really grossed out by you."

"Hey, I don't want to hear your lip, Mr. 'My Balls Don't Hurt My Back If I Don't Fuck!'"

"Why don't you just masturbate, then?! I'll look the other way, and that way you won't have to rape me!"

"Because, let's face it, I'm going to prison and I have to get used to the fact that I'm going to be fucking lots of men!"

Bandit Keith cringed and took the only cue he could find to shift the conversation. "What did you do, anyway?"

"You know those little tags on the couches that say 'do not remove under penalty of law?'"

"Oh, come the fuck on."

"Well, I shoved one of those down my daughter's throat because she wouldn't eat her peas and she suffocated."

"…Oh."

"…Yeah. So, I have to get used to man-sex, and you're going to be helping me lose my man-ginity."

Keith knew at that point there was nothing he could say that would change this crazy man's mind. So it was time to change the shape of his mind, USING FISTS. Keith swung at the man's face, feeling it connect but not even budge the large man's head. "Not into rough foreplay, baby," purred the man. Finally, Keith got the best idea he's ever gotten since the time he was so drunk he came up with the Duel Monsters strategy of "holding your opponent's cards hostage with a paper shredder" and kicked old Fitzy right in his oversized balls.

The Irish child murderer went down to his knees, shrieking like every ass hair on his body had turned into a thumbtack and fainted away. A guard rushed over to the cell to get to the bottom of Keith almost becoming a bottom.

"What on earth did you do to him?!" The officer asked Keith, assuming when he got there that Fitzy would be the one still standing.

"He tried to rape me, so I kicked him in the balls."

"Yeah, he'll do- wait, RAPE? We just thought the guy liked to kill children! Are you trying to cast aspersions on this man's character?"

"No, sir," Keith suddenly slurred, "I'm not trying to cast asparagus on this man's care taker."

Keith woke up. Still in the bar.

**THE END**


End file.
